After The Fall
by Mentally-Unstable
Summary: Set after "The Reichenbach Fall." Spoilers, obviously. John and Molly cope the best they can. But Molly has a secret John never sees coming.
1. Chapter 1

**Fandom: **Sherlock  
><strong>Title: <strong>After The Fall  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG-13  
><strong>Genre: <strong>Drama/Romance  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Set after "The Reichenbach Fall." Spoilers, obviously. John and Molly cope the best they can. But Molly has a secret John never sees coming.

**Author's Note:** My first venture into Sherlock fanfic, so I hope I do the characters justice, as I love them dearly. I also owe them and this show, for inspiring this and getting me out of a six-month battle with writer's block! I don't own anything you recognise, either. That goes to BBC and the brilliance of Mark Gatiss and Stephen Moffat.

**Chapter One**

It was sleek and black, with very simple engraved lettering. It was absolutely fitting, and morbidly beautiful.

It was the tombstone of Sherlock Holmes.

As John Watson stared at it, at is own reflection in the black marble, he fought the tears that threatened to come. He fought them because he was a military man, because he didn't want Mrs. Hudson to see him cry, but mostly he fought because he knew if Sherlock saw him cry, saw him showing such human emotion ... well ... he would never let John live it down.

_"Be alive. For me."_

John managed to say, and the words hurt, literally hurt him from the inside out. He had never known pain like this, or loss that cut this deep. Looking at the tombstone, he felt like he was looking at a patch of Earth that covered a casket that held a piece of himself.

It _hurt._

"Oh .. sorry .."

The voice was small, quiet. Mousy. But John recognised it instantly. He turned, a complete one-eighty spin, and there, stopped several yards before him, stood Molly Hooper.

John was ashamed to say he had completely forgotten about her, and how she might have been feeling. She had loved Sherlock in her own way, as they all had. As they always would.

But John looked at Molly, and felt sorry for her. He hated that he felt sorry for her, but he couldn't help it. She looked so sad, and lost. Like a child who gets separated from her parents. She looked at John awkwardly, then averted her gaze to the ground.

"Sorry." She muttered again, clutching the bouquet of flowers she held tightly. Her dark red fingernails bit into the stems, threatening to break them, the plastic wrapper making a loud crackling noise.

"Molly, why on Earth are you apologising?" John asked, surprised at the anger in his voice, "You're always apologising, always. For the stupidest things, too! Do you think it's your fault Sherlock didn't like how you made the coffee or that he paid too much attention to your damned lipstick?"

Molly stared at him, eyes wide and fearful. Tears threatened to spill. She opened her mouth to speak, and then stopped. She swallowed, looked to the ground and back to John. "Sorry. I mean ... " She shut her mouth, inhaling deeply. A _snap_ echoed in the silence as several of the flower stems broke.

John's lips formed a thin line as he stepped forward, closing the gap between them quickly. He stood in front of her for a moment, taking in the sight of her. Her brown hair was pulled back in a braided ponytail that hung over her right shoulder. Her make up was natural, except for the lipstick, always the lipstick, because Sherlock had told her once that it suited her, made her mouth look bigger, her lips fuller. She wore a knee-length skirt and sweater, both black, with a grey jacket over it, and high-heeled boots that were sinking into the damp earth. John moved to stand beside her and slipped his arm around her shoulders, reaching over to take her hand in his to guide her over to the grave.

To let her say goodbye.

xxx

John didn't want to go back to 221B Baker Street. In fact, he didn't think he physically could. Instead, he went to a small, homey cafe a few blocks away. One he had found on his own. One that didn't hold some sort of memory of Sherlock.

It was warm and toasty inside, and smelled like cooked pastries and the wood of the fireplace that burned on the opposite side of the room. He and Molly had chosen a seat by the window, overlooking the grey, rainy London day. Molly removed her coat and sweater upon entering, revealing the ridiculous long sleeved shirt she wore underneath - John thought there were cats on it, but he couldn't be sure, and he didn't really want to ask.

"You know, it's funny ..." Molly began, looking out the window as she nervously tugged at the sleeves of her shirt, "Well, not really funny, but ... ahem ..." She inhaled and looked at John, a small smile touching the corner of her lips, "I don't think I've ever really talked to you without ..." She stopped.

"Without Sherlock." John finished for her.

"Alone." She corrected him, "I've never really talked to you alone."

John chuckled softly. At that moment, the waitress approached, setting their cups in front of them and pouring them full off coffee and then taking their orders. John ordered the special, which was some kind of soup he'd never heard of, and a cheese toasty. Molly ordered a slice of pie.

"Pie?" John asked when the waitress left.

Molly nodded as she began pouring creamer into her coffee. "I always eat pie in places like this, don't you?"

"Well, sometimes ... " John thought a moment, "But not before I've had ... you know ... regular food."

Molly smiled sweetly, "Well, who's to say what's regular food?"

John shook his head, smiling faintly. Molly was probably the quirkiest girl he'd ever met, and he'd met some pretty quirky in his life. And some odd ones. And some crazy ones. And some bitchy ones. Too many of that last one, he thought.

He suddenly found himself thinking of Sherlock, which he found himself doing a lot lately, naturally. He thought if Sherlock had a better grasp on his feelings, his emotions, his humanity, that he and Molly would have made the perfect couple. Both quirky. Both neurotic. Both odd. Geniuses at their own talents - Sherlock's being mysteries, Molly's being post-mortems. John could just picture Sherlock going off on one of his deductive tantrums while Molly cut into some Westminster murder victim. It was oddly perfect.

"What is it?"

John looked up when he heard Molly's voice, "What?"

"You're smiling." Molly told him, a smile touching her lips, "What are you thinking about?"

He was smiling, and he hadn't realised it, being so lost in his vision of Sherlock and Molly coupled in a weirdly wonderful sort of way. He held the smile as he looked at her.

"I mean, you don't have to tell me, of course .." Molly said, shaking her head and averting her gaze to the spoon she was using to stir her coffee.

"No, I was just thinking .." John began, and decided it best not to tell her. She was very fragile, very sensitive, especially about matters pertaining to Sherlock, the man she had loved, and still loved as far as John knew. Sherlock told him once it was a silly crush she had on him. John knew better. "I was thinking I'd have a slice of pie."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

It had been a little over a week since John's visit to Sherlock's grave, and since he had last spoken to Molly. They'd had a nice time, he thought, conversing quietly over coffee. Their attempts to ignore the obvious had quickly been forgotten, and they had begun to reminisce. It hurt, of course. Molly fought through tears, and finally gave up, letting them spill down her cheeks. She wiped them away as quickly as they came, as if John wouldn't be able to tell, and she finished her coffee and pie as if nothing had happened.

In the meantime, John did his best to forget everything else about that day. The graveyard. The tombstone. The chill in the air that had bit at him especially hard for some reason or another.

John awoke on a dreary Tuesday morning, his back hurting from lying on the cheap motel bed. He had taken residence in the East London hole after his last trip to Baker Street had been too painful. There wasn't much to the room - a bed, a desk, a television. Ugly brown curtains and carpeting, and a hideous painting of hunting dogs which hung haphazardly above the bed.

John rose and went into the bathroom, showering quickly before getting dressed for the day. He had started working at a local clinic, not so much for the money, but just for something to do. To keep him busy. He hated the job, but without it, he knew he would go insane. After so much time spent with Sherlock, John had picked up the habit of needing something to do all the time. It kept his hands busy, and his mind off of things.

He pulled on his green jacket over the grey sweater he wore, before he grabbed his cell phone and room key, tucking them both safely in the pockets of his khaki pants before he opened the door ... and found Molly Hooper standing there.

"Molly." John's eyes widened as he held the door open, frowning at her, wondering how she'd known where he was staying, since he hadn't bothered to tell her.

"Oh ... hello!" Molly chirped, smiling awkwardly at him. She held out a throwaway tin with foil covering it. John looked at her quizzically and she gasped. "Oh! It's from Mrs. Hudson - she's worried you're not eating."

"Mrs. Hudson?" John asked. He took the tin, which smelled delicious, and then stepped aside, ushering Molly in as he closed the door behind her. His job was quickly forgotten.

"Yes. That's how I found out where you were. Mrs. Hudson told me you'd been staying here since ... well ..." Molly smiled sadly, tugging at the sleeves of her jacket - her nervous tic. "Anyway, she asked me to give it to you."

"Oh, well ... I'll have to thank her. I'll ring her in a bit." John walked across the room to place the tin in the small refrigerator that occupied the farthest corner. Then he turned and looked at Molly, frowning, "It's a bit early to be sent on errands by Mrs. Hudson, isn't it?"

"Oh!" Molly shook her head as she began fumbling with the bottom of her sweater, "Well, actually I stopped by Baker Street looking for you. I was on my way to work and thought to ... to ask you something." She took a deep breath, eyes forward, meeting his gaze.

John was half-afraid, half-curious. He stepped forward, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at her, "Yes?"

Molly took another deep breath. She was so nervous, so sporadic all the time. It took so much for her to gather her wits about her. She averted her gaze and then quickly returned it, peering up into John's gentle blue eyes. "Would you like to have coffee with me?"

John's eyes widened. That hadn't been what he was expecting. "Um .. " He exhaled, then cleared his throat, "Coffee? .. Molly, I .. "

"Not - not like a date, or anything!" Molly exclaimed, waving her hands in front of her and shaking her head, "Just ... I dunno ... it's a bit hard to explain ..."

"Molly ..."

"It was just, last week was really nice, despite the graveyard and the crying ..."

"Molly - "

"But I understand if you .. I mean, I probably shouldn't have ..."

"_Molly!"_ John shouted, louder than he'd intended. Molly jumped, but stopped speaking. John felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he nodded. "Yes. I would like to have coffee with you." He said softly. He'd thought their lunch had been nice, as well, though he couldn't explain why. Something about Molly calmed him, despite her being such an oddball at times. There was just something about her. Maybe the fact that she'd loved Sherlock as much as John had.

Molly stared at him. "Oh." She squeaked, and smiled shakily, "Oh. Well. Alright then."

John chuckled softly, then remembered his clinic duties. He glanced at the watch on his wrist and exclaimed. "Oh! I need to be going."

"Oh right, of course. Me too!" Molly chirped, smiling as she headed toward the door, and John followed. He opened the door for her, allowing her to walk out first, then he followed and made sure the door locked behind him.

"I get off at six. Then ... I'll text you?" John asked. He had Molly's number stored in his phone from when Sherlock had given it to him a while back. Molly had no idea Sherlock even had her number, and John had guessed that Sherlock preferred to keep it that way.

"Mmhmm." Molly nodded, smiling, "I'll see ... I mean, um ... have a good day, John."

John smiled. "You too, Molly."


End file.
